The gruesome tale of the joker, and the impossible journey he began and ended.
The is a tale of a man who grew into, and then grew out of,
A world of pain, and all the limits of sanity,
And arrived at whatever lay beyond.
He was a joker, and he always had a joke to tell,
But he never made the people laugh,
However much he tried, and he tried very hard.
He would never stop trying, or laughing at his own jokes,
But the rest of the world would never start, and they treated him with scorn,
And thrust upon him the dishonour of being a man ignored.
He would make a joke, and it would fall flat,
Splat on its face, bloodying its nose,
Killing its pride.
And a new joke would be born from his eager mouth,
Which would come out promisingly, full of potential,
But would soon get lost, and trip over old jokes,
Jokes of the past, and fall flat on its face as well.
His misery soon led him to drink,
And drink led to confusion,
And his jokes, which were never funny, or witty,
Were now always crude, and in bad taste, and often made no sense at all.
They would tumble, incoherent and drunk as they were,
And clumsily trip over each other,
And create an embrassing mess.
He was on a highway to insanity,
And travelling faster than anyone else,
Much too fast, much too over the speed limit,
Zooming past those who were trudging along it reluctantly,
Trying, desperately, to go faster than the sun,
And avoid the black shadow,
That was chasing him from behind,
Laughing at his desperation to avoid it.
He would, in his drunken haze,
Attempt to recover his fallen jokes,
Which would result in things worse,
As the unfit and incoherent jokes would rise,
Or rather, make hapless attempts to rise,
And then fall with a louder and more embrassing splat,
Down to the ground,
Down to the gutter,
Where, of course, they rightfully belonged.
Now the joker, being in the drunken state he was in,
Did not realize, or understand, much of his life,
But even he knew that dying jokes could not recover,
And therefore should not even try to.
And he, as far as the public could tell,
Began to think, and he thought hard,
Day and night pondering, wondering,
And finally the solution came upon him in a flash.
And the solution, when it came to him,
Led to him reaching a dead end on the highway,
And he found himself in front of a gravel path,
From which onwards he would have to walk.
In a stroke of genius,
Proof that he was a man who could still be given time,
And a second chance,
To kill his jokes,
So that now, they could never recover,
For he knew, unlike most people of the time,
That dead men do not move.
He soon discovered the joy of making a kill,
And, as is often the case,
The instinct of bloodlust crept into his being,
And he began to develop a deranged expression on his face,
The expression of a man who is aware of noone, and nothing, except himself, and his world,
And he began to grow tired of creating jokes to kill,
And stabbed innocent jokes to death,
Jokes that were useful members of society,
Jokes that had jobs, and families.
He was now halfway down the gravel path,
And he turned back to look at how far he had gone,
And the path began to swallow itself,
And forced the joker to run down the rest of the gravel road,
Run down to avoid the black shadow,
To avoid a slow and painful death.
He reached the end of the path,
And what he saw in front of him scared him out of his mind,
For it was a cliff,
And one that seemed to be higher than the sky itself,
And he was required to jump.
Of course, he was unable to bring himself to do it,
And he knew he needed a little push,
So that the last crooked corner of his mind,
The last piece of normalcy,
Could be destroyed,
So that he could stop thinking about the fall,
And so one day, the joker got what he wanted,
In the most gruesome manner.
It was a hot and sultry day,
And the joker walked,
With a smile on his face,
And a gun in his hands,
To the centre of the busiest road in the city,
At the busiest time of the day,
And began shooting.
Bang bang bang!
He shot the people down,
One by one, they all fell down,
And he carried them to the centre of the road,
And he formed a pile of real life jokes now,
And he danced at the top of a pile of corpses,
Dancing freely like only the insane, the truly insane, know how,
His hands flapping wildly,
His legs kicking the air,
Shooting down more men who were going to work,
Men who would never bother to laugh along with him,
And despised him so greatly they never laughed at him,
And at the top of a pile of blood-red corpses he stood,
Continuing his assault on the world, and his head,
As he shot countless people down,
Until he managed to get himself to jump from the cliff,
And achieve complete freedom from, and control over, his mind,
The final obstruction to his path to insanity,
As he got the push he wanted,
And he found himself where few dared to go,
Or even think about going.
The joker was in a garden,
A pristine garden of breathtaking beauty,
The reward for a difficult task completed so quickly, and completely.
It was as beautiful as could be,
Grass so green and soft you could lie in it and forget who you were,
Wild fruits growing from massive trees that kissed the sky,
Fruits that were so bright and beautiful,
And so sweet to taste,
The man who ate them would be swimming in a sea of senses,
Even hours after taking a bite,
Rabbits and squirrels hopping and jumping,
Mad with energy from the sights and sounds of what lay before them,
Flowers of bright hues that smelt so wonderful,
They attracted human beings and bees with too much power,
And resulted in countless stings, and countless deaths.
A sight so beautiful, a normal man,
A man who had no control over his mind,
Would be overwhelmed by what he saw,
And would be dead in an instant.
He found himself in paradise,
In front of a large mansion,
The doors shut,
A butler standing at the entrance,
A robe in his hand.
The joker walked over,
And was offered the robe,
And a few kind words,
"Welcome home, sir.
You must be tired.
It's been a long journey."
And the doors were open,
And he was offered a peek into his new life,
Before he became a part of it,
And he smiled ,
And without a slight moment of hesitation,
He walked in,
And was overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.